


friendship bracelet

by lovelylogans



Series: sanders sides platonic week [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, Food mention, Friendship, Friendship Bracelets, Gen, blood mention, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2020-12-17 18:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21058664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelylogans/pseuds/lovelylogans
Summary: Patton was always hopping from hobby to hobby.Virgil had mentioned it to Logan, when they were talking about his rapid change in hobbies, something aboutthe heart is fickle, and Logan had aimed him with a disdainful look that just said“how dare you contribute such symbolistic reasoning,”so Virgil didn’t mention it again. Logan’s leading theory was something about how Patton, as emotion, had a surplus of energy, or something along those lines. Virgil hadn’t really been listening. Sometimes, it was best to just let Logan talk for the sake of talking. Privately, Virgil thought that it was something he and Roman shared in common. He’d never told Logan this, for fear of mortally offending him.





	friendship bracelet

Patton was always hopping from hobby to hobby.

Some stayed longer than others: cooking, for instance, he had picked up and stuck with when it was apparent none of the other sides were capable of feeding themselves outside of microwavable meals and boxed macaroni. Patton had been trying to learn the ukulele at the same pace as Roman, and it was something fun for them to talk about, for Roman to puff himself up and fall over himself, talking about music theory. Patton could knit socks like nobody’s business, and he’d crocheted Logan a black scarf that Logan wore whenever it got too chilly.

Others were much more fleeting. Logan had to absorb Patton’s attempt at bullet journaling into his own massive notebook collection, and Virgil still had a half-finished cross-stitch of a corgi pillow under his bed, somewhere.

Virgil had mentioned it to Logan, when they were talking about his rapid change in hobbies, something about _the heart is fickle_, and Logan had aimed him with a disdainful look that just said _“how dare you contribute such symbolistic reasoning,”_ so Virgil didn’t mention it again. Logan’s leading theory was something about how Patton, as emotion, had a surplus of energy, or something along those lines. Virgil hadn’t really been listening. Sometimes, it was best to just let Logan talk for the sake of talking. Privately, Virgil thought that it was something he and Roman shared in common. He’d never told Logan this, for fear of mortally offending him.

When Virgil wandered into the commons one day, on his way to the kitchen to restock his snack hoard, he nearly tripped over where Patton was crouched on the ground.

“Sorry,” he blurted out, and Patton grinned at him, waving at him to come sit.

“No problem, kiddo!”

It was then that Virgil noticed the rainbow array of yarn in front of him. Too thin for knitting or crochet. He said as much to Patton.

“Oh!” Patton said, brightening. “I thought I might try something new.”

Huh. About time. The last hobby Patton had picked up and dropped was whittling, which came to an end abruptly when he sliced his thumb open. That had been months ago. Virgil had nearly had an aneurysm when he walked into the kitchen to Logan lecturing Patton hysterically as held a paper towel tightly against his bleeding thumb.

Virgil leaned against a wall, looking down at where Patton was sitting, criss-cross, in the middle of their living room. “No knives this time,” he checked.

Patton laughed. “The most dangerous part of this is scissors,” he said reassuringly.

“What’s this, exactly?” Virgil asked, glancing at the array of yarn, the book Patton was struggling to balance on one knee.

“Remember when we were kids, and Thomas went to summer camp, and everyone had those neat little bracelets?”

Virgil hummed in agreement. He mostly remembered the fiasco that came when someone rejected the bracelet that Thomas made, but Patton probably just remembered all the fun, pretty patterns.

“So,” he said, lifting the book and gesturing to the yarn, “I thought I might try making a couple, see how it sticks, you know?”

“Sounds good,” Virgil said. “Hope you have fun. I was gonna—“ He jerked his thumb to the kitchen, and Patton grinned.

“Aw, okay. Remember not to spoil your dinner, all right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil said, wandering into the kitchen and immediately raiding the cabinets.

When he walked out, Patton was squinting at the strands of thread he’d taped to the table, glancing back at the book before carefully, slowly, twining them together.

It seemed like the bracelet-making was one for the sticking around list.

Patton would tie together pieces of multicolored yarn and talk with the others as he braided, fingers getting faster and faster with practice, before picking them apart and braiding them together again.

It was really only a matter of time.

Logan got his first. It was a no-nonsense pattern that matched his tie; diagonal stripes in black, purple, and blue, with thin little bits of white strung between. Logan didn’t announce it, and Patton didn’t act any differently, but the bracelet resting on his bare wrist was clear enough.

Then Roman; he, too, didn’t mention it, and it took Virgil a little bit longer to spot it because of his long sleeves. But it was an elaborate pattern that reminded Virgil of the gold detailing on Roman’s costume, in deep, rich shades of red and metallic gold.

The days passed, and the thoughts of _Patton isn’t making you a friendship bracelet because he doesn’t actually **like** you_ were getting louder and louder in his had, especially when he saw a flash of one of the others’ bracelets.

Virgil was deep in the wikipedia page about the Lost Cosmonauts when he heard a knock on his door.

He nudged his headphones off of his ears. “Who is it?”

“Just me, kiddo!” Patton called out. “Is this a good time?”

Virgil closed his laptop, did a cursory straightening of his duvet, and called, “Yeah, come on in.”

Patton nudged open the door, holding two mugs, lifting them with a smile. “I brought cocoa?”

Virgil smiled, and gestured for Patton to sit on the bed, greedily taking his Finding Emo mug as Patton adjusted his grip on his Papa Bear mug.

“Thanks, Patton,” Virgil said into the rim of his mug, and Patton smiled.

“Anytime, buddy. What were you doing?”

“Oh,” Virgil said. “Just, um, reading.”

“Bout what?” Patton asked.

Virgil had to take a moment to remind himself that this was Patton, who would never belittle any of his interests, and said, “There’s this theory that some Soviet cosmonauts died before they got Yuri Gagarin into space—like, they got to space, but the USSR covered it up because they died up there. But it’s all pretty circumstantial,” he added hastily, when Patton started looking sad.

“Oh,” he said, and Virgil only had a moment to notice the mischievous look on his face before Patton said, “So, I guess you could say that some of the people that came up with the theories are… luna-tics?”

Virgil groaned.

“Sometimes they can be pretty astro-nutty,” Patton added on, grinning, and Virgil rolled his eyes, and hid his smile behind his mug.

“If I have to bear all these puns,” Virgil said, “Soviet.”

Patton’s delighted laughter warmed him even better than the cocoa.

They kept talking as they slowly emptied their mugs; they talked about space some more, and Patton would pop in with a pun whenever he thought of one, and Virgil brought up some of the happier conspiracy theories, as odd as that phrase was. Conspiracy theories that reached more into the bizarre, with minimal mentions of death.

Once they’d both drained their cocoa, Virgil collected their mugs to set them down on his desk. When he turned back to his bed, Patton was adjusting something in his hands.

Something purple. Something made of yarn.

Patton lifted it up a little when he saw Virgil staring. “Sorry it took me so long,” he said, sheepish. “I kind of had to adapt the design.”

Virgil reached for it, greedy, but faltered at the last second, fingers twitching.

“Can I help put it on?” Patton asked, gentle, and Virgil nodded, sticking out his right hand.

Patton carefully tied it around his wrist, tight enough that it wouldn’t fall off but not tight enough to cut off any circulation, and Virgil brought his face close, examining the design.

It was purple, with a line of little gray clouds and tiny white strands of lightning. Like his hoodie.

“I love it,” Virgil said, hushed, and looked up at Patton, cradling his wrist to his chest. “Thank you.”

“You know what I like about friendship bracelets?” Patton said, voice warm and gentle and full of all the good things in the world, and Virgil shook his head.

“Because it’s a physical reminder of how much each of you mean to me,” Patton said. “When I’m making it, I get to think about each person, and what they love, and the memories we’ve got together. And whenever you guys look at it, you guys—at least, I hope you do—you guys think about me. And you know that we’re friends. And that means that I’m there for you. And that I love you.”

Virgil wasn’t entirely sure what to say, but maybe the look on his face spoke for him, because Patton just smiled back.

“It’s late, kiddo. You should get some sleep.”

Patton leaned forwards, and pressed his lips against Virgil’s forehead, dry and warm. He leaned over and collected Virgil’s empty mug, and when Patton was at the door, Virgil blurted out, “Patton?”

“Hm?” He said, turning and smiling still.

Virgil fiddled quietly with his bracelet, and said, “I—we—love you too.”

Patton ducked his head, smiling still, and said, “Good night, Virgil.”

“Night, Pat.“


End file.
